


Calculated Risks

by f1fan (lifeschoices)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Sort of AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-31 16:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeschoices/pseuds/f1fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Drivers are forbidden to pursue relationships of any kind with any individual, due to the athletic advantage it gives them.”  </p><p>They know the rules. Everyone does. But rules are meant to be broken, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Had this in my head for a while so I thought I'd put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard!)  
> I'm determined to actually finish this one, and I've got another chapter written up already, so perhaps this will be the one...
> 
> I know this is short, even for a prologue, but I felt that this was the right place to start the story from.

“You need to sign this,” a brusque voice told Seb, shoving a piece of official looking paper in front of him. It bore the FIA logo at the top, and had large curly writing across it:

“ _Drivers are forbidden to pursue relationships of any kind with any individual, due to the athletic advantage it gives them.”_

Sebastian scanned his eyes over the legislation; even though he wasn’t a native English speaker and some of the words’ meanings passed over his head, he got the general idea of it. No significant others. At least, not while he was racing. He shrugged and signed the document saying that he agreed to abide by this rule.

How hard could it be? With the lifestyle that he was about to enter, it was unlikely that anyone would be able to commit themselves to him, seeing as he would be away from home so much of the time. _You’re only a third driver, Sebastian,_ he reminded himself. Even knowing this he couldn’t stop himself from casting his mind into the future. He knew that this was only the beginning; sooner or later he would be a Formula One driver, and there was nothing in the world he was surer about.

He was confident but there was also the focus and determination required to achieve his ambitions. However harsh and cold it made him out to be, a relationship would only distract him at this point in his career. He was still finding himself in the business, there was still the risk that somehow something would go wrong, that this wouldn’t work out, though these traitorous thoughts never crossed Seb’s mind.

He didn’t need to worry about this rule – it didn’t concern him.

Then Mark Webber came into his life, and it did.


	2. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so the story begins...

_“Any driver found to have breached this rule will have their License terminated immediately and is liable to have further action taken against them. If necessary the FIA will liaise with other sporting associations.”_

Awe. Sebastian Vettel’s face was the definition of it when he first met the Red Bull driver Mark Webber. The Australian simply demanded respect through everything he did: the way he walked, the way he spoke, his passion for life. Seb had looked up to him as something akin to an idol, and he frequently found himself stuttering when Mark addressed him.

It was soon clear to Sebastian that the respect was not mutual. The 2007 Japanese Grand Prix flashed through his mind – he still cringed slightly thinking about it. How could he have made such a stupid mistake? Yes, it was pouring down with rain at the time, but he should have known Mark was there. He had been so upset with himself, and Mark’s reaction hadn’t done much to help either.

After this fiasco, Seb had approached Mark with a fragmented offer of a truce. He had apologised to his face, repeatedly, and when Mark just stood there staring at him, his face like a wall of stone, Seb had panicked and looked as if he was about to burst into tears.

Mark noticed this, of course, and his face softened slightly, though his eyes remained guarded.

“What do you want from me, Sebastian?” Mark asked, gently but firmly. He needed to know. The German looked taken aback by the question, and floundered around for a bit.

“What do you mean?” Seb was frightened of the hidden implications. Did Mark mean what he thought he meant? A feeling he had in his gut told him yes, yes he did.

“You know full well what I mean, Sebastian,” his voice had the same lilt as usual, but there was something different when he spoke this time. There was an intensity which was mimicked by the shine of his eyes.

“But we can’t, you know we can’t,” he managed to stammer out in the middle of his confusion. Mark knew the rules. He knew what would happen. There was no way both of them could risk something as big as their career just for this. Both of them had worked so hard and sacrificed so much just to get here, and they could never throw that away for a crush which would be forgotten in a month or two.

Because Sebastian knew what his feelings were. And he knew _this_ was nothing more than a simple crush which he would get over. Mark would never be his, he knew that from the beginning. He would forget about this infatuation, get on with his life and his career, and when he was retired he would find someone, perhaps another retired sportsperson, and settle down with them.

That was what everyone did. That was what he was expected to do. So he would. He steeled his gaze and turned towards Mark again.

“We can’t do this, Mark,” he said. All the while his brain was screaming at him, telling him to just go for it, sod the consequences, this was his dream coming true. He squashed that side of him down, however much he wanted to just indulge in it, give himself up to the person opposite him, and drown beside him.

Mark’s face curled in on itself on Sebastian’s announcement, even though he knew what to expect. He is young, he reminded himself. He isn’t going to throw his career away for someone like me.

Mark wasn’t blind. He knew that when Seb looked at him, there was more than respect in his gaze. But now he realised that Seb was clearly looking to get over whatever feelings he had for Mark, because they simply weren’t allowed. The feeling of rejection was consuming him, and before he knew it he was shouting at Seb to get out of his room, and he was gone with a final close of the door.

And then Mark was so angry with himself, because he’d slipped up and gone and done the one thing which he wasn’t supposed to do. _You’re an idiot_. How had he ever thought that Seb would say yes? It was his lifelong dream versus a crush that would go away. It was obvious what he was going to choose – he was twenty. It was fair enough, he tried to reason.

But it really wasn’t. God, it was _so unfair._

As he hurled a nearby glass against the wall of his hotel room and watched the shards scatter themselves everywhere, he thought that perhaps he could feel his heart doing the very same thing inside of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think these are too short because I'm not sure :/


	3. Imprints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can't get worse, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly but surely they're getting longer...

_“The FIA is entitled to search drivers’ belongings without consent if it has sufficient evidence that this rule is being broken.”_

For a while after Mark thought that Seb would be easy to forget. But then when he saw him with Kimi Räikkönen, of all people, he knew it would be harder than he had previously thought. Every tinkling laugh from their direction felt like another rejection going straight to his heart. And they never stopped talking. Or Sebastian didn’t, anyway. Sometimes Mark thought that Kimi wasn’t even listening to him – _I would listen to you!_ – but then Seb finished what he wanted to say and then Kimi would look at him and smile and agree.

He heard the whispers of others around him: “Woah, Kimi sure likes this guy… he never smiles!” and he couldn’t bear to look at them, at the newly struck friendship in the paddock.

Sebastian seemed to be moving on. _So why can’t you?_

“Good luck for the race, Kimi,” Mark recognised the voice instantly. “Don’t tell Lewis or Fernando this, but I want you to win.” His voice had gone quiet, and Mark could imagine him shyly looking up at the Finn through his lashes, smiling almost bashfully.

Kimi laughed, and Mark was shocked, because it was loud and hearty and so unlike Kimi. That was just what Seb brought out of him. He always brought out the best in everyone. _Except me. I just mess things up with him._

“Thanks, Seb. See you later.” He must have ruffled Seb’s hair, because he made a small noise of protest, muttering something about ‘messed it up.’ Kimi laughed again, the same loud laugh – that must have been twice in thirty seconds – and walked out the room, not even noticing Mark pressed up awkwardly against the wall.

But Sebastian did.

“Mark.” He nodded his head curtly, but after that he didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. It had only been two weeks since their conversation in the hotel room, but something in Seb seemed to have changed.

_Not that he looks less beautiful._

No, something about the way he composed himself, his demeanour. He seemed more guarded than he had that night, when he had grovelled for forgiveness. He must have known that Mark had heard him with Kimi, but he didn’t seem to want to question him about it.

“Seb.”

Seb raised an eyebrow at the shortened name, because ever since they had met it had been _Sebastian_ , laced with resent. It was silent except for the incredibly loud clock in the room. Sebastian chewed his lip, and Mark knew from that gesture that he wanted to say something. It was almost subconscious how he recognised it, but it proved how much this man had changed his life. The words came tumbling out of their own accord.

“How are you?”

 _You cannot be serious._ Of all things to ask. Perhaps Mark’s incredulity showed on his face because Seb slowly became more guarded than before and backed away, as if he was awaiting an explosion of some sort.

“Why do you care?” Mark hissed. It felt good to give this man in front of him some of what he’d given to Mark. Hurt him just as he’d done. Seb’s face crumpled, and that was when Mark started to regret what he’d said. But it was too late. Seb schooled his face into a fiery glare.

“Maybe I shouldn’t.”

He stared at Mark for a few seconds, as if challenging him to take the words back and apologise. But Mark was too stubborn, too proud to do that. Perhaps Seb knew this but was offering him a chance anyway. Mark was silent. Then with a last look of disgust Seb pushed past the taller man and slammed the door. The clock was wrenched from its hook where it was hanging precariously and it smashed on the floor.

For a moment Mark was sure he was going to go home then he remembered that _there’s a race in two hours’ time so you need to pull yourself together._

He needn’t have cared. How can things possibly get worse, he had asked, trying to rally himself in some way.

“Sorry, mate, I think that’s race over.”

 _As if I didn’t know. Can’t exactly race with a screwed-up gearbox._ Yet Mark couldn’t help but feel a bit of satisfaction when he got back to the garage and found ‘Sebastian Vettel’ also under the list of retirees. At least they were together in something. It was pathetic, but it was consolation.

He watched the screens in the garage because it looked like this title fight was actually going to be interesting, and because he wasn’t allowed to leave and go to the hotel so he could drown his disappointment in alcohol. Also, Fernando was in contention, and they were mates, Mark reminded himself. In fact it had been too long since he’d talked to his friend, and he resolved to talk to him when this was all over.

Then he was proud of himself, because this was probably exactly what Seb had done to move on, and it had clearly worked with him. Make friends. Forget the love life. He was taking the first step.

But when he saw Seb laughing with Kimi and congratulating him on his title win, and Kimi grinning and slapping him on the back, he wished that he’d just gone home when he could, whether the team allowed it or not.

_If only we could laugh like that._

More than that, he wished that Seb Vettel, charming, vivacious, bubbly Seb Vettel had never come into his life at all.


	4. Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Mark finally get his act together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will probably be sparser over the next few days...sorry! :(

_“If a driver is suspicious of another driver breaking this rule, s/he is to report it immediately to the FIA.”_

“P3, Mark! Well done, good job.”

Third! Not bad, considering how bad a year it had been for the team. Maybe he could take advantage and the start and make something of this race.

“Who got pole?” Mark asked. There was a short pause, and then with a tone of surprise his engineer read out the name:

“Vettel. Toro-Rosso.”

Something froze inside Mark, because there was no way Sebastian Vettel could have gotten pole position in that garbage tip of a car. Even in the wet. But when he arrived at Parc Ferme to weigh himself and take the top three photo, Seb was there. And his name was at the top of the time sheet.

He worked to avoid running into the German and having to speak to him, because they weren’t exactly on the best of terms – and that was putting it lightly. Luckily, he didn’t have to try, because Sebastian was so ecstatic on getting his first ever pole that he was just bounding around minding his own business.

He happened to turn towards Mark with the same face-splitting smile he’d worn since he’d gotten out of the car, and Mark couldn’t find it within himself to be jealous. Because Seb did this in a _Toro Rosso_ and that proved something.

“Congrats, mate. That was quite something,” he said warmly. It was the friendliest he’d been to Seb since… he couldn’t even remember. Sebastian suddenly remembered that this was Mark Webber talking to him, Mark Webber who most likely hated his guts so he dimmed his smile and arranged his features into something bordering neutral.

“Thanks,” he almost breathed out. He smiled again, briefly, before turning back towards the camera and shoving his index finger high into the air. Now _that_ was something that annoyed Mark.

“Seb, you’ve won! YOU’VE WON THE ITALIAN GRAND PRIX!” This couldn’t be real. It felt like something plucked out of someone else’s reality. He’d won in his team’s home race, at Monza. And he wasn’t even in a Ferrari.

“YES! Grazie, grazie mille a tutti!” He screamed, his voice cracking and his vision blurred by tears. He tried to drink everything in: the marshals applauding him, the other drivers speeding by and congratulating him, the screaming fans, all chanting: “VETTEL! VETTEL!”

It was surreal. As he climbed out of the car he was swamped by the Toro Rosso mechanics and he wasn’t sure who exactly was hugging him and saying well done. There were other drivers there as well, some he’d never said a word to in his life and some who he knew thought of him as a little child. It seemed as if they looked at him in a different light now. He was one of the elite. He had proven himself.

“And we shall hear the German and Italian national anthems for the winner; the youngest winner ever in the history of Formula One, Sebastian Vettel for Toro Rosso!”

He knew he was jumping around like a maniac, but he couldn’t care less. A part of him wanted to stop and let this moment soak in, because he didn’t know when he’d be up here again. But they were already playing the German anthem, _his anthem,_ and he had to fight to keep the tears at bay. When the 100,000 people on the pit straight started screaming the Italian anthem a chill went up his spine.

He wasn’t scared – far from it. In fact, he felt utterly humbled on the top step of the podium, because now he felt that he hadn’t just won this race for himself, he’d done it for every single person down on the track.

_Where is Mark?_

_Why are you thinking about him? He hates you, remember?_

He suddenly realised that Mark wasn’t up on the podium with him. It made him feel oddly hollow and empty inside, even though he had no right to be so. Hell, he’d just won his first Formula One Grand Prix, why was he thinking about this?

He raised his finger, the same finger that was so close to being cut off a couple of years ago. _Mark hates it when I do that._ And there it was again. Somehow just remembering that made him wonder whether he should just put his finger back down again. But it was too late for that now.

_God, what is wrong with me?_

Something compelled him to check the leader board and see where Mark finished in the end. As his eyes travelled further down he became more and more shocked until finally they spotted his name in eighth. And suddenly he felt sorry for the Australian, because any race where you start third and finish eighth is not a good one.

“Mark, tough race for you today. Where did it go wrong?” Thank God this was the last interview, because Mark was ready to shout at the journalists and call them out on their bullshit: they acted so sympathetic when frankly they were out for your blood most of the time. They wanted you to slip up and give them something to feast on and dissect.

Mark took a deep breath and tried to think of something vaguely positive.

“Yeah, wasn’t really our day with the strategy and changeable conditions. But we showed good pace yesterday in qualifying, so we can build on that throughout the rest of this season and into next year.” There. That should make the bosses happy.

“Toro Rosso’s Sebastian Vettel just got his, and the team’s first win. Isn’t it a bit embarrassing for the junior team to get a win before the senior one?”

Mark had to stop for a moment, because it was embarrassing. In fact it was completely pathetic but he couldn’t say that, obviously.

“Well, I could have had a win a long time ago if it wasn’t for a certain German.” Then he put on his sunglasses – why was it sunny now, after the race? – and stormed off, knowing full well that he’d fallen into the media’s trap. He could just about hear the ITV team discussing his rather curt remark.

Then he spotted the winner with his trophy. Seb looked absolutely drained yet he was still making the time to talk to all the mechanics and TV crews about his amazing win. Mark began to make his way over to him, because it was only polite to congratulate someone on winning their first race.

_Shit._

Seb was watching a nearby TV screen, which was currently showing Mark’s post race interview. Said person could see Seb’s face flit through a series of emotions: sympathy, understanding and sadness. Then as the second question was fired there was a hint of pride visible; clearly he wasn’t used to having his name thrown around like this, and after that he was anticipating how Mark would answer the question.

 _“Well, I could have had a win a long time ago if it wasn’t for a certain German.”_ Mark stood there, not quite believing that he’d actually said that. _How idiotic are you, Webber?_ _Way to knock a man down._

Indeed, Sebastian’s entire posture seemed to have slumped a little, and he wasn’t even listening to what the TV presenters had to say about that quote. All he could hear was Mark, blaming him and chastising him. It made him wonder what his motive was. Perhaps he was just jealous. Seb found that hard to believe – Mark didn’t seem at all like the petty, jealous type.

“Hey, race winner!” Kimi came out of nowhere. “Come on, let’s celebrate. There’s a really nice bar near here.” Seb continued to look down at the ground.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Kimi put a hand on Seb’s shoulder, causing him to jerk his head up. Suddenly Mark could see nothing else except for that hand. “Look, if it’s about what that prick Webber said, he can go to hell. He’s just jealous, OK?” Kimi lowered his voice a little, but Mark still heard every word.

A small smile graced Seb’s face. “OK,” he whispered.

“Brilliant!” Kimi grinned. “Come on, let’s go!” He dragged Seb away from the garages, right towards where Mark was standing. _Why is it I always end up eavesdropping on these two?_

Suddenly Mark caught Seb’s eye, and was pierced with a look of betrayal and hurt. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologise, to say anything that came to his mind, but Seb cut him off before he got there.

“Just don’t, Mark,” he sighed tiredly. “I’ve had enough. I don’t know what your problem is, or what you’re trying to do, but can you just – stop?”

Mark just nodded his head dumbly, his brain too blank to form words. He doubted anything that he said would help the situation anyway. Kimi let out a little snort and said something that sounded like ‘coward.’ Mark glared at him, but even he knew it was feeble.

Then they were gone, and Mark was left alone.


	5. Drunken Exploits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Singapore 2009. Kimi's leaving, will Seb ask Mark to step in?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something's finally gonna happen, guys! :D  
> I guess it took me long enough.
> 
> Please comment what you thought, would love to hear it, even if it's bad!!

_“If a driver knowingly withholds information from the FIA they will be subject to the same punishment as drivers breaking this rule.”_

“Just _try_ and find him, Mark!” Christian almost shouted at his driver, exasperated beyond belief. Mark resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes, because that wouldn’t look too good in front of his bosses. He sighed heavily and trudged off to find his teammate, who had seemingly disappeared from under their noses.

A part of him was glad to have something to do rather than stand around and talk to people; he had never liked these post-race parties, especially the ones at night which seemed to never end.

After determining that his teammate wasn’t in the main party area, Mark tried one of the branches, which lead to an ante room just down the corridor. The smell of alcohol and sweat was everywhere in the air, and Mark suddenly wished he’d put on something a bit less restricting. As it was, no one was in the room, so he could quickly duck out and go back into the more spacious area.

 _Where has he gone now?_ It seemed that Sebastian Vettel would always cause inconvenience in Mark’s life. Of course after they became teammates they were put under strict orders to get along, because the animosity between them was well known in the paddock by now. The people at the top of Red Bull only cared about race results, and they couldn’t have the drivers’ personal issues with each other getting in the way of that.

When Seb won at Monza and it was announced that David Coulthard was retiring, there was really only one option for the vacant seat, and even Mark had to accept this. So far this year they had mostly kept out of each other’s way, rather to the relief of their team boss, Mark suspected.

Nevertheless, this was still annoying. Mark had tried two other spaces, only to find them…occupied. He hoped the people in there were too drunk to register his presence, otherwise he was going to have some awkward conversations with the other drivers in the near future.

He was about to head back to Christian and tell him that Sebastian must have gone back to his hotel room when he heard raised voices. They were coming from the only door he hadn’t checked. He moved closer – the door was closed, but he could still hear the people on the other side.

“But, Kimi, they can’t do this to you!” _It’s always those two, isn’t it?_ Mark always seemed to find himself in the middle of their conversations. Against his better judgement, he brought his ear closer to the gap in the door.

He heard Kimi sigh. “That’s life, Seb,” he said, confirming Mark’s suspicions about who was in there with him, even though Mark would be able to recognise Seb’s voice anywhere.

Seb spluttered for a while, as if he couldn’t believe that Kimi was taking this so easily. “But they paid you off, Kimi! And for Alonso, of all people,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. Mark had half a mind to storm in and demand that Seb apologise for insulting his friend. But then something else registered: ‘paid you off?’

That could only mean one thing. Kimi wouldn’t be in F1 next season. Suddenly Mark felt lighter, happier, but he couldn’t figure out why. He and Kimi had never gotten along very well, but it was almost subconscious how he rejoiced at hearing this news.

Kimi laughed quietly, “Maybe I should have hired you as my agent, Seb.” There was a moment of silence, then Seb exploded.

“Kimi, this isn’t a joke!” Mark found himself having to draw back a little so that his eardrums wouldn’t burst. Then Seb’s voice dropped to little more than a whisper, “You’re the only person who talks to me like I’m your equal. You’re my best friend, Kimi.”

Mark had to close his eyes against the devastation in Seb’s voice. It hurt, it really did. It sounded like it hurt Kimi as well.

“I know, Seb, I’m really sorry,” he said dejectedly. “You know if I could I would stay, right?” Through the slim crack in the doorframe Mark saw Seb nod and smile slightly, though it didn’t reach anywhere near his eyes. Kimi brought him in for a rough embrace, then nodded his leave. “We’ll be seeing more of each other anyway.”

With that, he started towards the door where Mark was standing. Mark quickly got out his phone and busied himself checking it mindlessly. Kimi didn’t acknowledge his presence. Mark stood there for another minute to alleviate suspicion, and in that time Seb didn’t come out of the door. He doubted that there was another way out of that room, so he opened the door tentatively.

Seb was slumped in a corner with a drink of some sort. He looked up at the intruder, held his gaze for a moment, and then looked back down again.

“Hey, Seb,” Mark began. “Everyone’s been looking for you. Why don’t you come back out?”

The German merely shrugged and took another gulp of his drink. It looked like vodka.

“I’ll get you a drink if you want?” Mark tried. He had to do something: not only would Christian skin him alive if he knew that his driver was drinking himself into oblivion, Mark couldn’t bear to see Sebastian so utterly down in the dumps. He was always so full of life; he looked like a completely different person.

Seb looked at Mark for a long moment, then finally dragged himself up and lumbered behind Mark back into the main party area. Mark quickly signalled to a waiter and picked up two shots of some sort of cocktail, one of which he handed to Seb.

“Cheers!” they clinked glasses. A torrent of fire seemed to be burning its way down from his mouth to his stomach. Mark looked at Seb to see how he was handling it. He’d downed the whole thing!

“Here. Pass me that,” Seb ordered, once he’d seen Mark’s reaction. He snatched it out of the Aussie’s hand and drained it in one gulp.

“Err… Seb? Are you on a mission to get plastered tonight?” From what he’d heard from the mechanics, Sebastian Vettel was a bit of a lightweight when it came to the drink. And this looked like one of the stronger concoctions out there. This was getting bad.

Somehow he managed to coerce Sebastian into following him around the room until he found their team principal. Every so often he’d grab a drink from a waiter’s tray and down it, discarding the glass on the floor. By the time they reached Christian Seb was starting to feel a bit dizzy.

“Found him!” Mark announced, both to Sebastian and Christian. The Brit turned around from the conversation he was having with Adrian and took in the state of his drivers.

“Jesus Christ, Seb!” he shouted. “How much have you had to drink?”

By now Seb was swaying where he stood, so Mark instinctively tried to support him with his arms. However he forgot about the drink which he was still holding, and he couldn’t prevent it from falling to the floor. Christian ignored this, far more concentrated and concerned about his driver.

“I think you’d better go upstairs, Seb,” Christian said. “Mark, would you mind taking him?” He looked at Mark somewhat apologetically, but Mark didn’t seem to notice. He slowly hauled Seb to the lifts which were thankfully quite nearby.

Mark had no idea how, but they reached Seb’s room without either of them falling to a heap on the floor.

“Seb,” Mark called. No response. “Seb, I need your key card.” The German whose weight he was practically carrying shifted slightly.

“Pocket,” he slurred, gesturing vaguely to his trousers. Mark fished it out and eventually he guided them both into the hotel room. Once there Seb seemed to want to slump down on the sofa but Mark knew that his trainer would bite his head off if he allowed that to happen, because,

“Sebastian’s neck could get damaged!” He could practically hear the Finnish accent in his mind. Finns didn’t particularly click with him. He wondered why Seb liked them so much.

“Mark,” Seb called out.

The Australian’s head jerked around at this sound. He wasn’t sure how aware Seb was right now.

“Stay with me,” Seb whispered. Mark’s blood ran cold. _No._ Even in his daze Seb saw the look of sheer horror on Mark’s face.

“Please Mark, just for tonight,” he continued in the same tone.

Every part of Mark was screaming at him to get out of the room right now, otherwise he could find himself in a very bad situation. He could potentially just make an excuse and escape whilst he could. Then they would never talk of this again.

But Seb looked so desperate lying there, with his big blue eyes. _Red-rimmed eyes._ It was clear that he was in need of some support. How bad could it be? Nothing was going to come of it, Mark would make sure of that. He took a deep breath.

“Alright.” Seb smiled. His eyes still looked glazed over, but Mark was sure that he would still remember this in the morning.

_And then what?_

Mark approached the bed slowly, where Sebastian was looking a little more alert than before. This wasn’t a good sign. Right now he wanted nothing more than for Seb to drift off as quickly as possible. Seb patted the other side of the bed. How could he say no?

“Mark,” Seb breathed. He snuggled up against Mark’s Red Bull hoodie. Mark didn’t dare to breathe or blink, fearing that the moment he did _this_ would be snatched away from him. He knew it was wrong to revel in this instant – Seb was drunk; there was no way he’d be doing this if he was coherent. Mark said as much.

Seb just beamed in response. “I’m perfectly sober, Mark,” he said. If it wasn’t for the shine in his eyes Mark would have believed him. Then suddenly he burst into tears – great, hiccupping sobs.

“Seb, Seb, what’s wrong?” Mark panicked. He had no idea what he was supposed to do right now. Crying people had never been his speciality.

“I – I can’t pretend anymore!” Seb almost wailed out. Mark furrowed his brow in confusion. So much for him saying he wasn’t drunk…

“Pretend what, Seb?” he asked gently. Seb just shook his head minutely. He took a deep breath and leaned over to Mark. He was so close, Mark could see his individual lashes…

“Seb, what are you doing?” Mark’s breaths were coming out in jittery intervals. Seb gazed up at him and Mark was struck by how utterly beautiful those blue eyes of his were.

“I’m showing you,” Seb stated simply. Then he leaned closer, and Mark lost all coherent thought.

*

The next morning the sound of Seb’s alarm clock woke Mark up with its incessant beep. He looked around him groggily before realising where he was. Last night came back to him in a flash. He made to get up, but once he did he couldn’t stop the bed sheet from falling to the floor, yanking it from Seb’s grip. They were both naked.

_What have I done?_


	6. Time to Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're F1 drivers, so they've acted first and now later has arrived...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit shorter than the last one but I thought you would have appreciated this sooner rather than later... as ever, enjoy!

_“This applies to anyone involved in Formula One in any way, including teams, sponsors, owners and volunteers.”_

Slowly and deliberately Mark began to dress himself. It took him a long time to track down his T-Shirt and hoodie, because the first one he tried on was too small. Clearly Seb’s. It held his scent, musky yet fresh at the same time. Mark breathed it in, chiding himself all the while for being so pathetic.

Seb was still in slumber when he’d finished gathering his clothes and putting them on. _Should I wake him up?_ Part of Mark was tempted to just leave a note and get out of here, but then he remembered how much of a coward he’d been already.

Hell, he loved Sebastian Vettel. It was time to man up.

He approached the bed once more, the action reminding him unnecessarily of the previous night. Seb looked so peaceful lying there, and Mark was now loathe to wake him up. But he knew it had to be done. He shook Seb awake, and was greeted with a slap to the face.

“What the – what’s happened?” Seb looked around wildly. Then his gaze fell upon his clothes, and the way they were strewn haphazardly around his hotel room, and finally he looked at Mark. In an instant the memories seemed to flash through his eyes and his mind. His face was unreadable.

“You didn’t leave? Why?” was his first question. _He asks the weirdest things._ Mark swallowed, taking in Seb’s clothes, or lack thereof.

“We have to talk,” was all he said. Seb’s mask fell slightly, and he heaved a huge sigh. He seemed to come to the same conclusion that Mark had, and once again patted the space besides him for Mark to sit down.

“Can you put some clothes on first, mate?” Mark asked, a tinge of annoyance finding its way into his tone. It was only because he knew for a fact he wouldn’t be able to concentrate unless Seb did as he asked. The German flushed deeply before hopping up. Mark looked away whilst Seb made himself decent.

Once he’d done that, Mark was determined to ask a question of his own, “How much do you remember?”

“All of it,” Seb replied without hesitation. _Shit._ Mark had been harbouring a small hope that there were some blank spaces. Mark ploughed on, somehow forcing the next question out of himself even though he dreaded its answer.

“Do you regret it?”

Unbeknownst to him, Mark had dropped his voice. Perhaps if it wasn’t as loud he’d take the rejection better. ‘Yes, I wish it had never happened.’ He was so caught up in this that he almost missed the sincere reply he got.

“Regret being with you? Never.”

 _Did he just say that?_ One look into Seb’s eyes told him all he needed to know. Yes, yes he did. Then Seb beamed, and Mark couldn’t care less whether it was cheesy or not, but it was like a light. A warm, pure, white light being shone just for him.

Mark grinned too. “Good, cause you’re stuck with me.” Seb laughed, and Mark could have listened to that light tinkling laugh all day. He tried to commit the sound to memory. Then it was quiet. Seb stared at him for a while, his blue eyes boring deep holes in Mark, almost as if he was seeing into his very soul.

Mark stared back too, entranced by this person in front of him. He had no idea who said it first, or how they said it at the same time:

“I love you,” they both whispered. The light above them started to flicker, which meant they both caught fleeting glimpses of the other as they took the revelations in. Seb’s eyes widened, then there was a look of pure adoration and exhilaration on his face which Mark had never seen before. He imagined that he looked the same. All of a sudden they were inches apart, when before there had been daylight, and Mark was intoxicated – by the smell, Seb’s eyes, his hair, his face…

A while later, neither of them knew exactly how long, they opened their eyes blearily. Seb smiled sleepily, and Mark couldn’t say that he’d seen anything more beautiful in his life. No-one spoke for a few moments, with both of them content just to bask in the peaceful silence. That was until Seb, being his usual cheeky self, said,

“You tired already, old man?” he grinned at Mark toothily. The Aussie knew that if anyone else had said that to him that person would get a few choice words hurled back, but something about the way Seb looked at him as he said it, the way Mark _knew_ he was just teasing him, just made him smile.

Right now he didn’t have the energy to make a sassy reply, but he did have the energy to bring something else up.

“We’re going to have to hide this,” part of him regretted putting a dampener on everything, but he knew that this had to be covered now, otherwise they’d lose themselves in it all. He’d seen it happen to people before, and it wasn’t pretty. Seb just kept looking at him – Mark wondered whether this thought had crossed the German’s mind yet.

There had been a case, ages ago, long before Mark had started out in the sport. In fact, not many people knew about it due to the FIA wanting to keep it under wraps. Mark himself had only learnt of It from Michael, a long time ago. The two drivers caught were relatively unknown, and if their relationship was meant to be aiding them it wasn’t really showing.

But what the FIA did to them… the way Michael had described it, as if he was reliving every moment - Mark almost wanted to block out that memory forever. Formula One was brutal, it was unforgiving, and most of all, it required solitude, the very thing that they were not seeking. Mark needed Seb to know what he was getting into – if Seb turned out to not know what was happening Mark would never forgive himself. Finally Seb replied.

“I know,” Seb said quietly. “But if I get to be with you, it’s worth it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts are much appreciated :-)


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